Whispers in the gloom, in the abyss of shadows, where no light gleams,
A cursed wind stirs midnight dreams.
Through halls and corridors of ancient stone,
The whispers rise, a hollowed moan.
Beneath the vault of blackened skies,
Where graves of mystery in silence lie,
The earth does tremble, cold and bare,
As phantoms wail in lost despair.
Within the castle’s crumbling walls,
A chilling echo softly calls,
From darkened rooms and passageways untold,
Where time has decayed, all that’s bold.
The portraits watch with eerie and ghostly eyes,
The souls of those who dared defy.
Their faces twist in frozen pain,
Trapped forever, lost, astray.
The moon, a pale and spectral sight,
Shines down upon the cursed night.
It bathes the land in a ghostly glow,
And feeds the fear that lurks below.
The trees, once green, are now twisted, rare,
Reach out like claws into the air.
They scrape and groan, their limbs entwined,
As though they grasp for what they’ve pined.
In every gust, a voice resounds,
A tale of grief that knows no bounds.
Of love once pure, now turned to dust,
Of hearts betrayed and broken trust.
A maiden fair with golden hair,
Once, she wandered those halls with a soft embrace.
Her beauty bright, her merriment a delight,
But darkness stole her soul one night.
She wanders now, a ghostly wraith,
Her eyes alight with long-lost faith.
Her hands reach out, but none remain
To save her from eternal pain.
The ancient bell begins to toll,
A knell that shakes the very soul.
Its ringing marks the hour of doom,
The end for all who dare presume.
And in the depths, the darkness grows,
Its tendrils creeping, slow and close.
It claims the lost, the broken, the weak,
It finds the hearts that dare to seek.
A wandering spirit, with steps unsure,
Might fall into the darkness’ lure.
For whispers in the gloom will swell,
In lands where shadows ever dwell.
The night is long, and none may tell.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
